


Asterisk

by sksdwrld



Series: Asterisk [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS, Heterosexual relationships, Stockholm Syndrome, psychiatric ward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot was comfortable in the knowledge that he was a kept-boy in a dystopian society. Then one day, his illusions are shattered and he is horrified to realize the twenty-first century is nothing like he'd imagined. It's exactly as we know it, and therein lies the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Elliot sat down in the worn leather chair that the doctor indicated with a faint lift of her palm and after watching her take a seat across the desk from him, turned his gaze toward the wall. He could feel her eyes on him as he looked at the concrete blocks, painted mint green probably because it was supposed to be a soothing color. It made him think about how he hadn't had a proper cup of tea in weeks.

Here, they served tepid water that made the cheap tea bags float, never to sink or steep. He and others like him -no, not like him but who lived here as well- were not allowed to have things like boiling water, cutlery, glass, or razors.

There was a smattering of fuzz on his face because he'd refused to let the orderly shave him like some kind of animal incapable of performing its own abolutions. He rubbed and pulled at it. It was itchy and made him feel unkempt. But then again, so did the pants with the elastic waistband and the overly large shirt he'd been given to wear.

With a start, Elliot realized that the doctor was talking. A part of him felt wrong for tuning her out, but the other part of him didn't care. They thought he was delusional. He wasn't going to pay any mind to someone who didn't want to listen to him. All he wanted was to go home. He didn't understand why he couldn't. He didn't understand why he was here. There was nothing wrong with him.

But Daniel had told him before that there were repercussions for going outside. And Daniel had told him to go back into the house. Elliot had been too scared of losing him to listen, though. And now, here he was. Alone and faceless in a sea of people who were truly crazy. He wasn't one of them. Not yet.

The doctor -her name was Susan Barclay and she was Daniel's age, early sixties, with short brown hair and dull brown eyes- slid something across the desk to him. Elliot glanced down to find it was a small, round mirror, made of actual glass and not polished stainless steel. He didn't touch it but leaned forward, peering at his reflection. He almost didn't recognize himself. His grey eyes were sunken, his cheekbones sharper than usual, his lips thin. Once, Elliot had taken great pride in his appearance, from his neatly styled blonde hair to the polish of his shoes. Now, he was tousled, unkempt and shoeless. He blamed them.  
Nudging the mirror away in disgust, Elliot flicked his eyes up at the doctor and waited to be addressed.

"If you don't start eating Elliot, we're going to have to intubate you. Do you know what that means?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "It means that we will insert a long tube through your nose into your stomach and inject nutritional supplements into it."

Elliot could not repress a shudder and shrank away from the desk.

"We don't want to, but unless you do something to help yourself, we won't have much of a choice." She went on. "I understand that you're upset, sweetheart. I know you're scared and confused. But you can't just shut down. Things will only get worse if you do."

Elliot stared down at his lap. He couldn't imagine life any worse than it already was. Gone were the creature comfort he'd taken for granted: the fireplace, the over-stuffed sofa and arm chair, the plush rug, and chenille throws. Gone was his disc player and the extensive collection of music that Daniel had provided him, along with the big, comfortable bed, and the library and his books. And of course, Daniel was gone. That was the main problem. Elliot thought he could have suffered through the indignities of this place if only Daniel was by his side.

One of the drawers shrieked on it's track as Dr. Barclay pulled it open. She reached into it and withdrew an apple, a sad-looking banana and a small blueberry muffin. Laying them side by side, she looked expectantly at Elliot. When he didn't move, she sighed and took a folder from one side of her desk and laid her hand flat on top of it. "These are the orders for the feeding tube."

Elliot felt his cheek twitch and his resolve crumble. He hated himself for giving in but he was afraid to have something stuck inside of him like that. The apple was heavy in his hand and he knew it would be equally as heavy in his stomach. She watched him as he ate it and then praised him like an obedient puppy. When he was through, she tried to engage him furthur, but he had reached his limit for taxing interaction. Elliot got up, let himself out and went back to the room he shared with a schizophrenic named Bob, Reginald, Francis, or Lacey, depending on the hour.

The room was blessedly empty and Elliot threw himself down on his cot. Curling into a ball, he pulled the pillow over his head and shut the world out.


	2. Chapter 2

Elliot was not really sleeping; it was difficult to in this place between the constant noise, the low-level lighting and the hourly checks. So, when Bob sat up and began an animated conversation with himself, Elliot got out of bed and went down to the lounge.

 

One of the night guards, as Elliot thought of them, was sitting in front of the tv and flicking the remote. Elliot knew his face but couldn't remember his name. He didn't really want the company but there wasn't anywhere else to go so he sat down on the sofa and pulled his feet up.

 

At Daniel's, the TV had rested inside of a large, locked cabinet. They hardly watched it, except on special occasions when Daniel brought home a movie. Here, it was on all the time. At first, Elliot had watched just because he could. Hours had passed and he'd realized that he'd lost an entire day of his life to it, hardly thinking, just absorbing. That was the danger of such a beast. So now, he tried not to pay it much mind, although tonight, it might be helpful to slip into a wasteland without the clamor of his brain, demanding answers he didn't have. <I>What is happening? Why are they demonizing him? How can I make them see that he saved me?</I>

 

The guard with the shaggy black hair and an unbecoming scruff glanced over at him. "Hey man, what you doin' outta bed?"

 

Elliot blinked.

 

"Oh, right, riiiight. Let's see...you're the non-verbal in 912, right?"

 

Elliot sniffed but gave a short nod. He resented that he had been reduced to such a title.

 

"Uh..." the guy snapped his fingers and scrunched up his eyes as he dragged out that lone syllable. "Elliot, right?"

 

He blinked and nodded again .

 

"Okay, cool. So Elliot, my man, what has you out and about this time of night?" Elliot looked past him in the direction of his room, but thought his meaning was probably lost on the orderly who seemed slightly out of it himself. "Right. You sick? Hurt? Scared? Need a drink?"

 

Each of the questions was punctuated with a shake of Elliot's head.

 

"So....maybe....you just can't sleep?" When Elliot inclined his head meaningfully, the orderly grinned. "This is almost like charades...no, er...twenty questions! I was never any good at that one. Let me check your chart to see if you have orders for Halcion or something."

 

As the orderly started to get up, Elliot made a sound in the back of his throat. He didn't want to be medicated into a coma. As the orderly paused to look at Elliot, his name badge swung into view. <I> Jake</I>. Elliot committed that to memory and Jake just looked at him. "You got something to say, man?"

 

Elliot blinked. He had a lot of things to say, it was just usually that no one listened.

 

Shrugging, Jake turned toward the nurses station. "You weren't mute when you came in here...I'm pretty sure I heard stories about you telling the director to go fuck herself."

 

Elliot's ears burned at the memory. Daniel would not have been amused if he'd heard how crass Elliot had been. He hung his head in shame but Jake was laughing as he let himself into the cubicle with the window.

 

"Like'ta tell her that myself some days, so good for you..." He began to rifle through something and beckoned Elliot closer, murmuring his name over and over. "Ah! Here it is. Elliot Whitley. Let's see...Lorazepam, blah blah blah, Quetipine, yadda yadda...PRN: Ibuprofen, Pepsid, Triazolam...that's Halcion. That what you want?"

 

Elliot shook his head.

 

Jake seemed surprised. "No? You need a drink? I got uh...bottled water and juice boxes back here." When Elliot shook his head again, Jake frowned. "What d'you want then, man?"

 

Swallowing down another sound, Elliot looked away.

 

"C'mon man. Can't help you if I don't know what you need."

 

"I want to go home..." Elliot murmured. It had been so long since he had talked that his own voice, however low it was, sounded foreign to his own ears.

 

Jake's eyes widened and he leaned forward. "What was that?"

 

"I want to go home!" Elliot's voice broke as he screamed and he started to pull his shirt over his head. He didn't want these things any more that weren't his; these ill-fitting and too-soft clothes that left him feeling like he was drowning in cloth. He wanted the structure and the walls he'd grown up in, felt safe in. "I want to go home! I want to go home!"

 

"Aw, fuck, man, c'mon!" Jake groaned, darting out of the station and trying to pull Elliot's shirt back down. "Keep your shirt on, keep your pants on, fuck, don't do this, man. I'm only trying to help you, damn it."

 

"I want Daniel!" Elliot protested, pushing at Jake and sinking to the floor. He pulled at his own hair as he tucked himself into a tight ball. "I want Daniel, I want Daniel, I want Daniel..."


	3. Chapter 3

"Elliot, do you have something you'd like to share with the group?" Dr. Barclay was looking at him expectantly and tapping her pen against the notepad in her lap.

Elliot looked away from her and around at the five other people in the circle. There was Annalise, the anorexic, a skeletal seventeen year old girl who had spoken about the hardships of body image and the trauma she incurred by being force-fed through her feeding tube; Rachel, the fifteen year-old cutter who was the reason behind why Elliot's lunch tray no longer came with a plastic knife; Brandon, a violent twenty year old who had been on antipsychotics so long that he twitched and trilled uncontrollably and at random intervals; Shelby, a dramatic and affected fifteen year old who insisted that she was the incarnation of the portrait of Dorian Gray (Elliot was fairly certain that this was a ploy for attention); and Martine, a twenty-four year old college-dropout who was stressed out and suicidal.

Rubbing a stain on his sweatpants, Elliot shrugged. He didn't relate to any of these people and frankly, he didn't care about their problems. They were deeply troubled individuals who probably would benefit from a Eugenics programme, with the exception of Shelby, for whom a sound paddling would likely set to rights.

"Elliot..." Dr. Barclay prompted. "I'd like it if you opened up to us a little. We're all friends here and we try to help each other."

"I don't have any friends here," Elliot glared. "Daniel is the only person I care about and thanks to you, he's never coming back."

The doctor sighed. "You know why he isn't coming back, Elliot, and it has nothing to do with me."

"He didn't abuse me!" Elliot snapped. "He didn't hurt me, and he didn't force me to have sex with him."

Dr. Barclay's lips pressed into a thin line. That was an ongoing debate between them, and Elliot knew she didn't agree, but she hadn't been there. "He lied to you though, didn't he, Elliot?"

"The last I'd checked, lying wasn't an offense punishable by imprisonment," Elliot said.

"No, but failure to report abandonment, abduction, false imprisonment, abuse of trust, abuse of position, statutory rape, and sexual misconduct _are_ offenses punishable by imprisonment." She stopped tapping her pen and looked at him, waiting for a response. She was the only one. Nobody else would even glance in his direction.

"There is nothing wrong with me!" Elliot insisted.

"You're an agoraphobic with Stockholm Syndrome, a sensory processing disorder, and anxiety, Elliot, and that's okay. It's expected that after everything you've been through, you'll have difficulty adjusting to life outside. We're here to help you, but you have to let go, Elliot, and trust that we're doing what's best for you."

"No, you're doing what's best for you. What's best for me is to let me go back to the way things were, where I was safe and happy. You've locked me up with a bunch of mental defectives and stripped me of everything I had that I was proud of. What is the difference between being a prisoner in Daniel's house and being one here? At least there I had nice clothes, music, books. I was educated and stimulated, nurtured, and cared for. All you do here is repress me, medicate me, and try to change me." Elliot pushed himself up from his chair. "I feel more victimized here than I ever did by Daniel. I just want you to leave me alone!"

"Sit down, Elliot!" Dr. Barclay commanded.

He leveled her with his darkest look. "If everything you told me is true, then you have no right to control me and I don't have to listen to you. I'm not a threat to myself: I'm used to being left alone all day. Now, I'm going to that jail cell you call my room, and in case you weren't aware, none of the doors or window at Daniel's house had bars on them."

"Elliot...." Dr. Barclay called in dismay.

A he stalked away, Elliot dramatically flung his arms up. He was through with this place.


	4. Chapter 4

Elliot stared at Dr. Barclay, who was propping open the door with her foot as she beckoned toward him. "Come on, Elliot. You wanted to get out, let's get out."

A shudder passed through him and he took a deep breath.

"What are you afraid of?"

Elliot licked his lips and his eyes darted to the side. "I don't want to be...Daniel said I would...People will see me." 

"Okay, Elliot. We've been through this. There was no socio-economic collapse following the second World War. The United States government was not overthrown and the slave-trade was not reinstated. The only people outside are hospital employees and families enjoying the sun and their lunch. You are safe, you can't be stolen, threatened, or harmed."

"Maybe you're lying," Elliot hedged.

"I'm not."

"You wouldn't tell me if you were, would you?" Elliot tightened his arms around himself and pressed flatter against the wall.

"Haven't you always wanted to feel the sun on your face, Elliot? The breeze in your hair? Come on, just outside the door. We don't even have to go onto the lawn. Fresh air, Elliot, there's nothing like it."

Elliot chewed his lips. How many days had he sat by the window and gazed out at the sky? How many times had Daniel yelled at him for straying too close to the door? He leaned away from the wall and Dr. Barclay nodded approvingly, beckoning to him again.

He made it to the door frame, leaned out, and breathed in the most glorious scent he'd ever smelled. Dr. Barclay left him there and moved into the sun. There was a stone wall and she hopped up onto it, reclining slightly and smiling as she squinted at him. "Come sit with me. It's warm out here."

It felt like it took hours, but Elliot slowly inched past the door. He pushed his hand along the hot, rough stone and kept his eyes glued to the ground. It was brighter than he could imagine, and dots swam in his vision as his eyes watered.

Around them, Elliot could hear shared laughter, the rushing of cars, chirping birds. It built and built until it seemed that every fibre of his being was being pulled apart by the chaos of it all. Elliot slumped in defeat after darting back inside, clutching his shoulder where pain was radiating to from his chest. 

Gasping for breath, Elliot shook his head. "I can't, I can't."

Dr. Barclay put her arm around Elliot. Her eyes were bright as she hugged him. "But you did, Elliot. You did!"


End file.
